


Giver of Gifts

by Malind



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Deception, Dubious Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Manipulation, Power Dynamics, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-06
Updated: 2016-03-06
Packaged: 2018-05-25 03:08:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6177778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Malind/pseuds/Malind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A man, who calls himself Annatar, comes bearing gifts, and the prince finds himself accepting one in particular.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Giver of Gifts

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place around SA 1500, when Sauron (under the guise of Annatar) travels to the elves to get them to construct the rings. I may be a bit off, like where they are at the time this story takes place, but I tried to be as accurate as I could. :)
> 
> Disclaimer: The Tolkien characters and universe are owned by Tolkien Enterprises. I make no profit from this fanfiction.

"Word came to me that you possess many things of great beauty and perfection, Lord of Greenwood," the fair, smiling man said softly, boldly.

As the words echoed into silence in the large chamber, the human's eyes flickered to the elf prince who'd thought he'd managed to stay hidden behind the ceiling-length curtains covering a concealed entrance to the throne room.  Thranduil flattened himself against a wall to the side of the doorless exit. 

"I desired to see these things for myself before I continued on my journey.  If you allow me, in return for this pleasure, I brought with me a gift which I will bestow upon you and your people: Knowledge which is not yet known amongst you."

The room was quiet. Thranduil waited several long seconds before he dared to draw the curtain enough again to peek through. He couldn't help himself.  He had to see.

Had the king known his heir hid, Thranduil would have felt the sharpness of his father's eyes and tongue.  A future ruler didn't hide, only submitted to the will of his own people, especially at Thanduil's age, although, at that point in his life, he'd been sheltered from much of the pains of the world.

Nonetheless, through the prince's understanding and innocence, this human frightened Thranduil as much as he fascinated him.  And so the prince hid.  Or tried to, at least.

But, in reality, what could the beautiful, perfect things Oropher might possess truly matter to this man? This stunning human before them, whose name had been announced as Annatar, smiled with perfection, with far more.  Thranduil could see that his father was taken by him--by a _human_ \--as the elder elf smiled back with a hint of desire the king had only ever shown for his wife, at least before this audience.

Oropher's fingers caressed the armrest of his throne as he leaned further back into the solid, carved piece of wood, almost offering himself up. "How could I deny it's true?" His smile broadened. "Although the things I possess, of which you surely speak, are a blessing and not from any true intent of my own.  Please, I would like you to stay here in my home until your duty takes you away from us.  Amon Lanc is your home now."

The prince had never seen his father act in such open, free manner, especially in front of a stranger they had no reason to trust.  But Thranduil himself had never acted this way either, hiding like a cockroach at the approach of light. 

But how could he not when he knew in every part of his body that something was different about this man?

Annatar was perfection and gracefulness lined in power, as he bow graciously in acceptance of the invitation, his long white robe rustling softly in the quite room.  He looked at the younger elf one more time, making Thranduil pull back.  It wasn't until the heir heard the continuous rustling of a robe and his father's sigh that he looked again.  He watched the man withdraw from the hall, following another elf, long wavy hair flowing almost with a life of its own.

Before that day, people had told Thranduil that he had the fairest blonde hair to ever grace someone's head.  Today, he knew that to not be true.  Annatar's hair was as close to being white without actually being so, a fair platinum-blonde that shone brighter than the white of his robe and the gold about his head and neck.

It wasn't until his father withdrew as well that the prince came out of the curtains and stalked with long strides to his bedchamber on the far end of the structure. His every intent was to not run into Annatar by chance.  His footsteps took him faster and faster though as he felt something following him.  When he reached to turn the handle of his door, he felt more than he heard a presence near him.  Even before he turned his head, he knew who it'd be.  It seemed, wherever this man walked, the air was thicker, heavy, just on the verge of being unbearable.  Or perhaps that was only in Thranduil's own head.  His father had seemed quite content in his presence.

"Do you run from me, prince?"  The voice was a purr, a much softer one than the one for his father.  But in it, he heard something much fiercer.

Thranduil turned his head, then his whole body when he realized just how close the man was.  He wanted to retreat into his room and slam the door shut, but that would have been a bit too obvious. 

Annatar smiled beautifully.  "So much distrust from someone so young."

"It's not distrust," he said, his voice low, unwilling to say the truth.

"No?  Ordinary fear then?  I doubt that."  He took a step closer.  The man smelled of blackened earth.  "In either case, I assure you, you have nothing to fear from me.  At least not this day."

The man stepped closer, and Thranduil realized just how towering Annatar was.  He himself was tall, and while Annatar's height wasn't unnatural, he had to look up to continue his stare into eyes that screamed something he couldn't grasp.  Or perhaps didn't want to grasp.

After a tilt of his head, the man said, "Take me into your bedchamber."

The words swarmed instant heat drenched in genuine fear through his body. He opened his mouth, truly not sure what to say to that.  It was his right and his duty to deny this man, even as a guest of the house.  The elf was no whore, kept man, or servant.  He was a prince and the future ruler of this land.

Annatar lifted a hand.  Fingernails just barely touched his cheek.  Thranduil flinched but couldn't break his gaze.  The emotionally assaulting man smiled.  "I bring a gift for you, my little prince."

Distracting him from the words, the hand cupped his cheek.  The power he felt there, that had nothing to do with flesh, widened his eyes.  He didn't know what this man was, but he was like no other.  His own skin seemed to burn with the contact.  It wasn't overtly painful, more like a continuous sting that a person with any sense would know they should withdraw from.

What kind of creature was Annatar?  He couldn't make his mouth move to ask.

The taller man bent his head and brushed his lips over Thranduil's own.  His breath smelled of fire.  The heat coming from his hand was nothing compared to the heat coming from his mouth.  The elf gasped at it, withdrawing, and the door stopped his retreat.  His own lips felt alive with the remnant of that heat.

"Take me inside."

Inside of what?  His mouth?  His room?  Himself?

A robed arm reached behind him and turned the handle.  Leaning against it, the wood his support, the elf stumbled back a step.  Annatar immediately followed after, almost forcing himself into the room, but not quite with Thranduil still blocking the way. 

In a moment of quiet, he realized this creature was letting him make a choice, granted a coerced one, but it was still a choice.  He could have drawn his sword.  Yelled to the guards nearby.  He could have done a lot of things in that moment.  Instead of saving himself, he let the man wrap an arm about Thranduil's own robed body and claim his mouth again. 

And this time, perhaps growing used to the heat, it felt so good.  Instead of resisting, he devoured it, opening his mouth, letting the man claim him further.  His mouth burned.  The whole of him burned while a certain part stood to attention.  He found his body grinding at the man's who then smiled against his lips.  Annatar obviously knew he'd won this small battle.  And that realization made Thranduil yank himself away, retreating further into the room.

Annatar closed the door behind himself and watched the elf with eyes that were suddenly so dark, almost the color of dried blood.

"What are you?"

Breaking the stare, the man looked down as large, long hands removed the belt and sword at his waist, leaning it next to the doorway.  "I'm the Lord of Gifts, little one."

Little one?  With time to spare, hearing such endearments from this man finally grated on him.  He was not little, well past the age an elf would be considered a child.  Nor had they know each other just an hour before.  But that didn't seem to matter to Annatar.

When the dark eyes rose, they only got as high as Thranduil's groin.  Color came to Thranduil's skin at the obvious hardness there that poked at the robe, ashamed it was there in the first place, furious that it hadn't gone down in the least.

"Touch yourself for me."

The prince's fists clenched.  He wouldn't do that, not in front of this man.  Not in front of anyone. 

Annatar gave him a moment to respond accordingly, but when it was obvious he wasn't going to, the taller man stepped forward, closing the distance.  Oh-so-slow hands reached forward, daring him to withdraw again.  When he didn't, trying to stand his ground, the hands shuffled through the thick fabric, quickly finding the edge of the wrapped cloth.  Slowly, the man opened it, observing Thranduil's every shuddering breath to see if he was going to protest with more than his eyes.

A heated whisper, "When I take you, you'll scream my name."

The words brought out an involuntary, throaty groan before his head said 'no' with a shake.  Then a hand touched the tip of his length, and he let out a half-moan, half-gasp that seemed to fill the large room, grabbing at the larger man's soft robe, fingernails scratching at the chest hidden there.  His chin hit his own chest.  His whole body was consumed with heat that felt as pleasurable as it did painful, never mind the tip of his erection.

A hand grabbed one of his own and replaced the other hand at his cock, encouraging him with a hand over hand caress.  His own hand felt dull compared to Annatar's, and he whimpered at the loss of sensation.  Clear blue eyes looked up at the taller man, him praying his eyes made his case because he couldn't say it out loud.

Annatar smiled sweetly.  "Touch yourself."

Apparently not.  He bit his lip and then whispered, "Please."

The hand grasped his own again and encouraged movement.  He fought it at first but then felt his hand move of its own accord.  He hated the breathy sounds coming from his mouth but couldn't stop them. Soon, his hips moved in concert as he lost any hope for shame.  When the sounds became moans and his hips jutted at his thrusting hand, Annatar grabbed the hand's wrist, stopping him with a surprisingly iron grip. He gasped at the strength there.

When he no longer resisted, Annatar unbuckled the belt at the elf's waist, letting it and the sword drop to the floor with a muffled clank against the wood.  He then untied the sash holding his robe closed and pushed the whole of it over his shoulders, leaving Thranduil in nothing but his undershirt.  He should have been chilled, but the man's close heat kept him warm.  The man lifted the crown off of his head as well, dropping it like it meant nothing, and then weaved his hands through blonde locks.  When the hands reached his shoulders, Annatar gripped them and pulled him forward, mouthing his neck with lips and then teeth.

Just under his jaw, the taller man whispered, "Lie down," before withdrawing to straighten.

Thranduil blinked up at the creature before him.  It took him a moment to process the words, but then he backed up a step.  The man let him go.

If he did try to run, he wondered, would Annatar let him go or chase him down like an animal?

A knowing smile deadened the thought but couldn't kill it.  Thranduil took a step to the side and then another, never losing eye contact with the man, before he turned his gaze to the door and stalked to it with the full intent of ordering the man to leave, Annatar following him.  When he reached it and turned the handle to open it, a hand slammed against the wood right by his ear. 

"Tell me you want me to go, Thranduil, and I will."

"You will?"

"Yes," the taller man breathed against his shoulder before kissing it, touching both hair and skin.

The elf hated how his head tilted.  "I don't believe you."

The man chuckled darkly.  "This same trust issue.  Have I made you do anything against your will?"

"I don't know," he replied honestly.  He remembered how his father, a man he'd always thought to be incorruptible, had looked at Annatar.  In turn, he didn't know how much of this was himself and how much it was the this man pressing his influence with whatever power he held inside of his large body.

The creature's other hand soothed over his hip and to a length Thranduil wondered whether or not would ever go down again.  He bucked at it and its heat, unable to help himself.  The hand stroked him strongly, never relenting.  He put his hands against the door, one overlapping Annatar's own unintentionally, but with it already there, he didn't bother moving it.  Instead, all of his thought was for what was between his legs. 

When the verge of his climax rose up, sweat covering his skin, his moans uninhibited, the hand yanked away without the slightest bit of sympathy.  The elf found himself swung around by strong hands.  Annatar fell to his knees, his hot mouth wrapping around Thranduil's length.  The elf called out at the burning sensation created by Annatar's mouth, unable to control his voice or the orgasm that felt like it was strong-armed from him.  So lost in it, he barely felt himself being turned back around and pushed against the door. 

The sound of spitting played with his ears.  A finger coated in slippery wetness pushed its way inside of him, something he'd never had the strength to suffer before.  More pushed into his lax body, stretching him.  He also found the strength at that moment to moan at it, the touch and sensations sending nearly intolerable heat up his body. 

Then he heard slickness rubbing at another length and closed his eyes.  The pressing head seemed too large to ever possibly fit.  Steady, demanding thrusts proved him so wrong.  He called out weakly, both at the stretch and the renewed heat that was in no way natural.  The thrusts pounded him until he was fully against the door, his cheek at the wood, his heavy breaths and gasps meeting that of Annatar's.  The sounds were like a melody, one deeper than the other. 

Up on his toes, the rutting continued until the elf felt an orgasm build up again, his cock pressed up firmly against the door, rubbing at it with each solid pound.  He heard a voice and knew it as his own, but it sounded so weak.  It said:  "Please, please, oh please, Annatar!  I'm going to come!"

The man behind him gripped his chin, forcing his body to twist, drawing him into a deep kiss.  For a moment he lived in the kiss, tasting faint traces of himself, until Annatar let him go again and pounded in earnest.  Seconds later, his body came with a blinding force.  He called out the man's name, not even having a thought to quiet his voice, risking the guards coming to 'save' him.  Even if they did start to his bedchamber, perhaps the obvious pounding at the door would have given them some clue to keep their distance.

And he'd thought the man's cock inside of him had been hot.  The man's seed was searing as it flooded deep into him, shuddering hips pressing hard to make sure he took every drop.  He called out again, sure that he was being burned from the inside.

At his ear, he heard whispers that sounded like calming words and endearments, but in a language he didn't know.  He imagined they were telling him to take the gift that was given to him, to enjoy it. 

Soon, the burning sensation dimmed, and he sucked in quivering breaths, realizing he'd been holding them in.

Still at his ear, Annatar whispered, "You are so beautiful, so, so perfect, Thranduil."

The elf didn't believe the words, not anymore, but he couldn't find the strength to deny them either. 

When the man withdrew, he hissed and then found himself in the larger man's arms, being carried to his bed.  And then, without a protest in mind or heart, he found himself being taken again and again.  Annatar's strength never drained.  Eventually, exhausted, he slept in the man's arms, the thick length still moving inside of him.

And in the morning, the creature was gone from his bed and their home, all without a word.  And Thranduil, the elf prince of Greenwood, wanted more.


End file.
